


Pranayama

by tigerlady (shetiger)



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetiger/pseuds/tigerlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He only has minutes. (Set during the penultimate scene of Requiem.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pranayama

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/gifts), [kageygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageygirl/gifts), [Callie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie/gifts), [technosagery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/technosagery/gifts).



> Thank you to kagey for betaing. For the 'arrest' square on my hurt/comfort bingo, and technosagery's [impromptu kissing fest](http://technosage.livejournal.com/283960.html). :)

Minutes. He has minutes. Four? Six? He can't remember what the latest research says, but quicker is better. Will wraps his hand around her throat, her name slipping out as he feels for a carotid pulse that isn't there. How much time did he lose to the water creature? Thirty seconds? A minute? More? It feels like forever since he watched her last breath slip out between her lips.

Too long. Ventilation doesn't revive her. Her heart is arrested. Stopped. _Dead._

No. _No no no no no_ , he thinks, reaching for the defibrillator. Not _dead_. Helen Magnus is immortal; she's not going to meet her maker because of some freaky pressure-loving abnormal and his own too-clever plan. The charge does nothing, as far as he can tell, and his fingers fumble through the med kit as he scrambles for the atropine. The sensible part of his brain is telling him to take a deep breath, calm down and make sure he gets it right.

The sensible part of his brain might guide the shot to her chest, but it has no say in the way his own body pulls in ragged gasps of air. The band around his chest winds tighter as he searches out her pulse again: Nothing.

His pulse pounds in his temple, his throat, adrenaline speeding his hands almost too fast as he stabs into the kit again. The same adrenaline that is his last resort, the thing that will surely kickstart her heart. Will raises his hand, aims, and--

For a lightning blink of time, he doesn't understand what's happened.

"Thank you, Will. That'll be quite enough."

The needle drops out of his hand. He collapses in on himself, head in his hands, caught between crying from relief and screaming out the remains of his fear. There's a touch against his head: the back of Helen's knuckles, resting there for just a moment. He raises his head, to confirm that she's real. Alive.

"Well done," she says, and as he sags against her, her hand comes up again, palm and fingers cradling his temple. Her skin is cool; whether from the lack of oxygen or their time in the frigid water, he's not sure. He needs to get up, get moving, make sure she's all right. Make sure that her breathing is fine and her heart beat is regular. Make sure he didn't hurt her when he killed her. But for the moment, all he can do is gasp for air like he was the one deprived, and try not to shake apart.

Magnus is alive. _Helen_ is alive.

Her hand drifts away, slowly, like gravity is dragging it downwards rather than she's moved it under her own power. Will jerks his head up, scared that he's lost her again, but she's looking back at him with farseeing eyes.

"Are you okay?" he finally manages to ask.

"Thanks to you." Her smile is a small thing, as wobbly and precious as a newborn colt--but it's all her. "In case you were wondering--my name's Helen Magnus, I'm 158 years old, and I met with Barack last week about the Atlari's request for asylum."

Will manages a wobbly smile of his own. "That's good enough for me." He needs to get up. Get her off the deck, get her somewhere warm and dry and comfortable. He needs to contain the creature, both for safety reasons and for later study. He needs to get them moving towards the surface and home.

"Will," she says. Just his name. No demands or questions attached to it. Like it's something precious for her to hang on to. He watches his own hand stretch forward, feeling drugged and giddy as he strokes the drops of moisture off her forehead. The blood is returning to her cheeks, fleshing them up, and he runs his thumb along the line of color.

"I'm sorry," he says. His throat tastes metallic, raw like after an hour run, and the words aren't even a bandaid on what he feels. "I'm so sorry I had to do that."

"I know," she says. From anyone else, it would be a mere palliative, a bone thrown in an untenable situation. But he hears the weight of experience when she speaks, the costs she's tallied and the price she's paid. It doesn't erase the horror of what he did--but it does let him take his first deep breath in longer than he can remember.

She finds his hand, fingers uncharacteristically but understandably clumsy, and rubs his skin, as if she were trying to chafe the life back into him. "Will. I know."

Later, they won't talk about it. Later, it won't be necessary to talk about it, just one more stitch in the unravelable binding between them. Will leans forward, pressing a kiss to her brow. He lingers, feeling the warmth beneath his lips, and doesn't move until her hand finds the back of his neck and tugs him downwards. Their mouths meet awkwardly at first, exhaustion robbing both of them of grace.

He kisses her as if his life depended on it. He kisses her as if _her_ life depended on it, and she kisses back just as fervently. Their need gentles quickly, into mouthing kisses that are more brushes of lips against lips than anything else. Finally, her hand slackens on his neck, and Will sags to the side. He lays down beside her on the deck, their limbs uncomfortably tangled together in a way that's infinitely comforting, and,

they. just. breathe.

END


End file.
